


For Mature Audiences

by romanticalgirl



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-29 02:32:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3878845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He haunts him</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Mature Audiences

Mickey is only human.

Finding strangers at the park wasn't really what he wanted. He didn't want just another piece of ass. He sure as fuck didn't want to _be_ anyone's piece of ass.

_not true. lying to yourself_

But he still has needs. Needs that aren't being met. Haven't been met for a long time. And, while he's still intimately familiar with his right hand, his mind keeps going to back things he doesn't want to remember.

_lying to yourself. you cant forget_

It should be easy to get off thinking about Ian. Mickey's got a treasure trove of memories. Good sex, angry sex, medicated not-sex, hand jobs, blow jobs, rim jobs, alleyways, beds, walls, freezers. He can't think of a place he and Ian didn't fuck.

_you cant forget. why even try_

The problem is that thinking about Ian hurts. His blank stare, his anger, his complete disconnect. Mickey handled depression. He handled mania. He didn't know how to handle Ian not feeling. Not even the numbness of the meds. Just the desire not to feel. Vacant.

_why even try. he haunts you_

So Mickey is desperate to find something to get his mind off Ian. Something that isn't nameless, faceless sex. Something that isn't wanting to get in, get off, and get out. He pays with someone else's credit card. Some asshole who'd flippd him shit and then turned his back. The name Milkovich doesn't inspire fear like it used to. 

Mickey's been changing that.

Whoever the fucker had been, he's stupid enough not to have canceled his card, so Mickey looks for the good stuff. Not the arty frou-frou shit. Not the amateur bullshit with crap lighting and fucked angles. Good shit. Shit that had some fucking production value.

Mandy's gone. His brother's are gone. Svetlana's gone. Even still his door's locked. He knows it's stupid. He can't think of a single person over the age of 10 who lives in this neighbrohood who doesn't watch this shit. Girl on girl, girl on guy, guy on guy. Twosomes, threesomes, foursomes, orgies. Nothing's sacred on the south side.

He doesn't know what he's looking for until he finds it. The description reads like a fucking checklist of every one of Mickey's kinks, including a few he didn't know he had until he read the words and his dick got hard. Harder.

It's not cheap. But then, that's part of the point.

It's porn. Even good porn is always just porn. Ridiculous scenarios, inane dialogue, overdone soundtrack of moans and groans. Mickey's got the laptop on a pillow on his thighs so he can see over his dick as he strokes it. He tries to go slow. He tries to make it last. 

"Hey, Mick."

Mickey's hand stills as his heart speeds up. 

Ian. 

On his screen. 

Talking to someone who, for some fucking reason, is named Mick. Ian tugs off his shirt and tosses it aside, undoing his pants as he walks toward whoever Mick is. 

God, Ian's cock is gorgous. Long and thick and perfect. He strokes it a few times and then the other guy is on his knees, taking Ian deep. Dark hair, pale skin, pink lips sucking Ian's dick. The whole shaft disappears into his mouth, and Mickey knows the scratch of Ian's hair against his mouth, his jaw. Knows the hot slide of pre-come on his tongue as the head of Ian's cock grazes the back of his throat. 

Mickey knows what it's like to have those long fingers buried in his hair, holding Mickey still except for his trembling muscles as he fucks into Mickey's mouth, fucks his face like he's hammering into Mickey's ass, hard and abandoned.

Mickey can't even process that this is the porn Ian made, cheated on him to make. Instead all he can do is focus on Ian's voice, Mickey's name falling from between his lips. Loud, hungry, desperate. He and Mickey were always quiet, afraid, considerate of all the other people around them. But Ian's groaning and grunting and calling out Mickey's name, telling him to take all of his cock, that he likes it, likes Ian owning his hot mouth. 

The guy moans around Ian and Mickey can see Ian's hands tighten. He pushes the guy's face against his pelvis, holding it there as he just thrusts, his ass tight and giving the guy no chance to swallow or breathe. 

Mickey's hand is moving again, though he doesn't know when it started. All he can see is the dark shadow of Ian's eyes. Mickey's memory wasn't good enough. Somehow the curves and planes and contours of Ian's body aren't the same as they were in his mind's eye. Ian's sharper, more defined. Mass and muscle and perfect for holding Mickey against him, holding him down. 

"Fuck, Ian," Mickey whispers under his breath. Ian pulls out of the guy's mouth and shoves him down so he lands on his ass on the floor. Ian doesn't hesitate, just thrusts into him. It's rough and perfect, and Mickey loves it as much as he hates it, as much as he misses it. Something catches in his chest - a breath, a sob, his heart? - and Mickey pulls his hand off his dick, shoving the computer away from him so it tumbles to the floor. 

He might have heard a crack. He might have cared.

"Fuck you. Fucking _fuck you_ , Ian." This time it is a sob that catches, threatens to choke him. "I never fucking wanted to love you, you stupid fucking son-of-a-bitch. I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask for you to come in and ruin my fucking life!" He grabs his cigarettes and lighter off the nightstand and throws them, grabs the laptop again and throws it across the room hard enough to disengage it from the power source. "I was _fine_. I didn't care if I was free. It didn't fucking _hurt_."

He rubs his face with his hands then climbs off the bed. He goes to the bathroom and cleans up. For once he's grateful for the cold water and he stands under the spray until he's shivering. He avoids looking at himself in the mirror.

The laptop is ruined, but the sound is still working, and Mickey can hear the sound of Ian's voice. It's tinny and distant and it's so fucking on point that Mickey has to laugh.

Which lasts until he starts to cry.


End file.
